


Bird heart

by Twolittlesparrows



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other, Possibly Unrequited Love, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23818711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twolittlesparrows/pseuds/Twolittlesparrows
Summary: It wasn’t that Sten didn’t like them exactly. They were fine. Confused creatures with no purpose, but not unkind even if they lacked discipline.Except for warden Tabris. She grasped at her purpose with white knuckles. She was afraid, but held it close, cradled it. Sten often observed how her hands shook when she spoke. Her small hands wielded daggers in a blur. Hands that tended his wounds, helped mend his shirt, brought him warm bowls of stew.--Short stories and chapters exploring the relationship between Sten and female warden Tabris. Will also explore her relationships with the others, especially with Zevran.
Relationships: Sten/Female Tabris (Dragon Age), Sten/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai/Female Tabris
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Bird heart

The forest was filled with ghosts. Every tree and branch creaked in the wind like the sound of a thousand voices whispering, calling, luring the unsuspecting. The Dalish had passed on as many warnings as there were ghosts, their hushed and fearful words to the Wardens mixed with their cries for help. They were cursed, apparently. Hunted by foul beasts. Sten found them cloying. Small, wispy people very unlike the elves he had trained beside back on Seheron. 

Sten could feel the whisper of magic on his skin. The hair on his nape tingled. The sooner they were out of this place, the better. Trees bowed around them, yet no birds sang. Back home, he would watch birds flit from branch to branch chasing bugs. Bright, colourful things that sung sweetly. He had mostly seen dopey city pigeons and hawks in Ferelden. 

The Grey Wardens had chosen to camp in some ruins deep within the forest, the half collapsed roof offering some shelter against the impending storm. Sten could smell the rain on the wind. It was heavy and promised days of mud slicked boots and shins. Ferelden weather was a blight in of itself. At least there was enough ground cover for him to set up his tent a distance away from the others. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them exactly. They were fine. Confused creatures with no purpose, but not unkind even if they lacked discipline. 

Except for warden Tabris. She grasped at her purpose with white knuckles. She was afraid, but held it close, cradled it. Sten often observed how her hands shook when she spoke. He had witnessed the downfall of many men who mistook her elven looks and soft voice as weakness. Her small hands wielded daggers in a blur. Hands that tended his wounds, helped mend his shirt, brought him warm bowls of stew. 

Those same shaking hands that now gently touched his elbow in greeting. Sten looked down over his shoulder, and simply nodded his head. Warden Tabris reminded him of a sparrow. Her hair was an unremarkable brown, large eyes framed by strange elven tattoos like the markings on feathers. Light boned and agile. 

‘Sten, Alistair and Morrigan are doing my head in. May I sit with you for a bit?’ She asked with a faint smile. ‘I’d welcome the quite.’ 

‘If you wish,’ Sten sat down beside her. She settled by his side, their backs leaning against a ruin wall. 

Rain pattered on the stones above them. Tabris pulled her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. ‘I really wish they’d stop it,’ she whispered.

‘It’s undisciplined.’ 

Tabirs nodded, ‘And it makes me uneasy. I have enough to worry about without fearing Morrigan will turn him into an ash pile.’ 

‘You do not worry he’ll run her through? He is a mage hunter.’ 

‘Yeah, but he’d be scared I’d yell at him,’ Tabris laughed, looking up at Sten, her eyes wrinkled at the corners. 

‘The witch is dangerous,’ He said, looking away. ‘Yet you trust her.’ 

‘About as far as I can throw her.’ 

Sten frowned. This was another thing he struggled with. Idioms in other languages were always hard to follow. He didn’t reply. 

The wind picked up. Tabris shifted closer against him, using his large body as a shield against the cold. He didn’t mind. 

‘I trust you,’ She whispered. 

Sten looked ahead, watching the trees sway, the rain run in rivers down the collapsed pillars and overgrown vines. 

They had fought a month ago. Physically fought. Tabris and he verbally sparred many times, and no doubt would again. But in Haven, he had challenged her for leadership. Right there, in the snow. Alistair had protested, thinking it was meant as disrespect but that was far from it. Tabris welcomed the challenge. She understood him better than the others. She always took the time to understand him. Sten recalled the fight with pride. She had won and in turn cemented his respect for her. 

‘I trust you as well, Kadan,’ He said after a moment. Tabris leaned her cheek on his bicep, and she sighed. ‘Further than I could throw you,’ He added. ‘Which would be far, you are small.’ 

She snorted. Sten looked down to see her curled around herself, shoulders shaking. Laughter poured from her in waves, eyes shiny with tears. Tabris stood and flung her arms around his neck. She hugged him. The touch sent warmth spreading through his body, cutting through the shock. 

Once, when he was a child, Sten had found a small bird knocked from it’s nest by the wind. He carried it carefully in his hands, feeling the animal quiver in his grip. He ran back to the Tamassrans with it, and together they showed him how to care for the little bird. They checked its wings, one of which was broken. They told him what had to be done. That little animal who had been tossed from its home and now lost its purpose had to be killed. It wouldn’t be able to fly again. The death was swift and he buried it in the garden. 

With his arm around Tabris he felt that same little quiver. She held tight, giggling into his hair. Sten gave her back pat as she pulled away with a little sigh. Tabris pressed a kiss to his forehead, hands on his shoulders. He gazed into her hazel eyes, brows pulled into a frown. 

‘You’re a good man, Sten,’ She said. ‘But you’ll never get the chance to throw me.’ 

‘No?’ 

‘No! I’m much faster. You’d have to catch me first!’ She winked, squeezing his shoulders before stepping out from his embrace. The cold hit him in her absence. 

She waved farewell as a huge gust of wind blew through the camp. Sten watched her return to the fire. Alistair greeted her enthusiastically, patting a pad of canvas next to him. She sat, legs curled under herself. Alistair draped a cloak over her shoulders. 

Sten turned away.


End file.
